Convicted (Consequences)

repercussions. That’s not something the prominent U.S. government officials want to see at this time. After his location is confirmed, it’s been determined to allow him to stay hidden. Actually, that was the bureau’s plan. I can’t say I agree with the Boston office’s tactics. I think they should’ve been straight with him all along, but it wasn’t my call. Now, we have to clean up their mess.”
    “What if the evidence points back to Mr. Rawlings?”
    “If it does, we bring him in.”
    Externally, Harry maintained his neutral expression; internally he smiled from ear to ear. Bring him in— yes, Harry liked the way that sounded. He wanted to be the person placing Rawlings’ wrists in cuffs—and he didn’t mean the thousand dollar, diamond studded kind. Harry’s need for retaliation wasn’t solely based on what he did to Claire, although admittedly it was a predominating factor. No, Harry’s incentive stemmed from the implication of so many other criminal activities. Rawlings hadn’t only taken Claire’s life, but he’d also, potentially—theoretically, hurt countless others—taking and destroying lives at will. Yes, Harry wanted to see Anthony Rawlings behind bars more than he wanted anything else. Maybe, just maybe, when Rawlings’ crimes were brought to light Claire would see the truth. Oh, there was no doubt that when Claire learned that Harry’s presence in Palo Alto was not coincidental—that he also lied to her, she’d be upset, but lying for good was much better than killing, beating, raping...it twisted Harry’s stomach to think how long the list of Rawlings’ sins could possibly be.
    Snapping back to reality, the photo of the man on the wall screen registered, and Harry said, “Phillip Roach.”
    “Excuse me?” SAC Williams asked.
    “The man in those photos with Claire Nichols, his name is Phillip Roach. He’s a private investigator. I ran preliminary background checks on him. He has a military background and on multiple occasions he’s fallen off the grid. He did work for Rawlings. I don’t know why he’d be with Ms. Nichols now.”
    “Well then, that’s on your list of things to learn.”
    “Sir, why am I suddenly in Europe?”
    SAC Williams smiled. “Welcome back, Agent.”

 
     
     
    Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills .
    —Buddha
     
     
     
    Brent tipped the Styrofoam cup upward attempting to garnish the last drops of caffeine, praying for a jumpstart to his exhausted body and mind. He’d been sitting and watching the feed from the hotel’s surveillance cameras for hours. Agent Jackson remained with him, but the second agent occasionally changed. The one who accompanied Jackson to the hotel was back; however, he’d left for a while and been replaced with another man, wearing the same customary black suit.
    Regardless of who was within their room, they sat and watched the same loop over and over. It consisted of a hallway view of Tony and the two agents leaving the suite—the three men alone in the elevator—their walk through the lobby—and all of them entering a waiting black SUV. Brent wondered if Agent Jackson expected something to change, some new information. He wasn’t seeing it; at this point, he was pretty sure he’d see the same video in his dreams—if he ever had a full night’s sleep.
    Without a doubt, Tony walked away willingly. There seemed to be little communication occurring between Tony and the agents; however, without audio, that couldn’t be confirmed. Watching his friend disappear from the camera’s view, Brent wondered, was Tony being taken by the person Claire feared? The FBI insinuated otherwise. Without coming out and saying it, Brent sensed that they thought Tony’s departure—like Claire’s—was of his own free will . Regardless of the reason, Brent saw no advantage to watching the same footage a thousand times. Shouldn’t they be tracking down the SUV or something? Suddenly, Agent Jackson’s voice refocused Brent’s thoughts. “There it is! That’s what I’ve been trying to see. I knew something seemed odd.” The other agent hit pause and backed up the video; soon they were all watching the footage again.
    Finally, Brent asked the question he could no longer contain, “What do you see? All I see is the man on the left sending a text.”
    Agent number two replied. Brent gave up